Costs
by Tawny The Disturbed
Summary: Up until his father found out that he had no powers, Will had just about had everything handed to him in life. Now homeless, hungry and lacking any street smarts whatsoever; no compassion from anyone, Will finds himself faced with a question: How much? Request from Loveless Fangirl. Rated M for swears, depression, harm, sadism, discrimination, dub-con, and paid-for "intimacy".
1. Prologue: Powerlack

**Yes, I am alive. Just horribly busy. Being in your final semester at college does that to you. Grades, applying to other schools, having a role in a few different shows, directing a one-act that I wrote, and otherwise stretching myself far too thin. I'm tired and bitter. And I don't have the time or motivation to write as much as I want to. I am trying to fix that. **

**So this is another request from Loveless fangirl. **

**It's going to be short, like my recent writings have been. A few modest chapters. **

**Just letting you all know that it'll get kinda dark and depressing. I mean, I'm using the broken parts of society as my inspiration here.**

* * *

Sitting in her garden didn't feel like the wonder it used to be. The flowers and reaching leaves provided no fairy tale comfort. Sitting under her little apple tree wasn't the sanctuary it once was. Everything felt empty, and useless. _I _felt empty and useless.

"I can't," I said, shaking my head.

"Please, Will. You need a place to stay. My parents would be more than happy to have you here!" Layla implored, reaching for my hand where it was settled on my knee.

I let her grasp my fingers in hers. Her hands were always so soft and gentle. It was momentarily calming for all the bile that threatened to rise in my throat.

"You live right next door to them. They'll know I'm here. They'll know you're helping me." I rubbed at my eyes when it felt like they were starting to water. "I cannot, and will not be this close to them…They disowned me." I clenched and quickly unclenched my jaw. It still freakin' hurt.

She shook her head, "They can't legally disown you. You're a minor."

Grinding my teeth painfully, I snatched my hand away from hers. "Then I'll disown them! You should've heard what he said, Lay. You should've seen his face…you should've seen my mom's face…" I dropped my _own_ damned face into my hands, hiding the spilt tears. I shouldn't have even had any left from all the crying I'd done since they…kicked me out.

Layla sniffled quietly, "I did hear what he said. We all did."

"Not all of it…it got worse after he made you guys leave…"

"Will,"

Lifting my head, I scanned her face. She was teary eyed, and tormented. She placed her quiet hands that worked wonders in this garden on my shoulders. I wished for a moment that I were a plant. A poor little wilted plant. And with just a happy thought from her, she could make everything within me feel alive until I could stand tall again.

But I wasn't a plant. I was a _"lying little sack of shit of a Powerlack"_…

"I don't want to talk about it anymore." I rasped, rubbing hard at my eyes to dry them. "Are you gonna help me get up there or not?"

She looked up to where I gestured. My bedroom window…well, my _old_ bedroom window.

The redhead sniffled again, wiped a little at her eye and nodded. Standing up, I wiped off my jeans, "Good. Come on. We gotta be quiet."

We hopped the fence, and peeked around the edge of the house to see if any lights went on. Nothing. Every window was dark. And they had to be sound asleep by now. We'd waited nearly an hour after the last light turned off to be sure.

At the reassurance and cover of the darkness, I climbed onto the strongest branch of the adolescent tree under my window. Layla had frequently used it as a natural ladder to join me and my roof-top contemplations. I didn't think I'd ever use it. Especially not to break into my own bedroom.

_Hope it's not locked…_

"Go." I whispered, and Layla powered up, touching the tree's bark and closing her eyes.

Up, up, up I went. And luck was with me for once this week when the window slid open. It squeaked a little and I froze, gritting my teeth and listening for any movement. I glanced down at Layla. She looked around the edge of the house and then mouthed "You're okay," with a thumb tipped up.

Reassured, I slid the glass pane up higher and ducked into the room.

The door was closed, and everything looked just as I had left it a few days ago. I didn't know if I'd been expecting the place to be trashed or sterile or something. Dust had even settled on the surfaces of the furniture.

As quietly as I could, I grabbed my backpack off of the floor and removed my textbooks one by one. Wouldn't need them anyways. I hadn't been allowed on the bus the other day. My par…_they _had made sure to call and take my name off of the roster at Sky High. I was no longer a student there because they'd withdrawn their tuition payment, and was apparently pending a refund.

Ron Wilson, bus driver, couldn't have looked more pathetic as he'd denied me access. _"I'm so sorry, Will…but…I have to follow protocol…only students of the school on this bus." _The looks from my former classmates from the windows had been a mix of sympathy…and disdain. Freakin' Larry had even called out,_ "You're not even good enough to be a Sidekick! So buzz off, Powerlack!"_

Ron had said nothing, but looked at me sadly as he'd pulled the doors closed. He knew at least what it was like to be this way…to have nothing.

My bank account was locked. My cell phone had been deactivated. They'd completely cut me off. All I had was like eleven dollars and some change.

_Wait, no…_

I opened the drawer on my desk and pulled out a little tin gum case. It was where I'd put my chore money. Last time I'd counted there'd been about twenty dollars in it. And that was only because I'd gone and bought myself an iPod before school had started.

_Speaking of which, _I took that off my nightstand and shoved it and its charger into my pocket because that was _mine_.

As I was stuffing more clothes into my bag, my eyes fell onto my guitar sitting in the corner by my bed. It had been a birthday present when I'd been twelve, foolishly dreaming of being some kind of Indie rock star by the time I'd entered Sky High. Getting all the girls…stupid stuff like that.

I contemplated leaving it behind. It was something else that would connect me to them. I didn't want to have anything to do with Steve and Josie Stronghold. But it meant a lot to me…not because it was a gift, but because I loved music. What teenager didn't? Also…if or when they ever came up here, they'd see I'd snuck in and taken stuff and flip their stupid lids…and that was a plus for me.

I slid the instrument into its case, guiding the latches into place so they made no noise. Then I was easing it out of the window before me. Pausing, I glanced to take one last look. For a minute, stupid wishful thinking came to me unbidden.

For a second, I hoped that they would come find me, beg forgiveness and tell me how sorry they were. Kinda just hang onto me…glad to see me…cry maybe.

I rubbed furiously at the water in my eyes, and firmly climbed out of the window. I didn't bother sliding it shut. I hoped it rained and ruined everything in there. I hoped the stupid house caught on fire.

Carefully, I stepped back onto the supporting branch of Layla's tree and held tight as she guided it back down to its true age.

Once I was safely on the ground again, we moved back into her yard. Both of us were breathing heavy from the fear and the adrenaline. If he'd smacked me around for not having powers, he surely would've killed me for coming back, breaking in and stealing.

"Where are you going to go now?" Layla asked, leaning heavily against the fence.

Shrugging, I replied, "Back to Zack's. He's gonna let me sleep on the floor one more night. But after that I can't. I guess my status in the community is pretty much _persona non gratta_."

"What?" Layla asked, horrified.

"His Dad doesn't want a Powerlack in his house. He's kinda traditional I guess. Zack even told me that he probably would've gotten kicked out himself if he hadn't powered up…"

"Oh my God…this is ridiculous! We're living in a different time! Even the word shouldn't even be said anymore! Powerlack…I mean…Supers marry citizens all the time now! Look at my mom and dad!"

Shaking my head, I set down my guitar, "Your parents are hippies, Lay…and mortals aren't Powerlacks. They're born the way they're supposed to be born. Powerlacks aren't. Powerlacks are wrong. It's a completely different issue."

"You're not wrong, Will." She firmly growled, clasping my face in her hands. I winced, shrugging away as she pressed against the bruise on my face. "I'm sorry," she quickly said, and took a deep breath to prepare a rant. "No matter what people say, you are not wrong. Ron Wilson is like you, and he's accepted in the community."

"No he's not! He's a freakin' bus driver, Lay. He's a trial run. A guinea pig. A publicity stunt. A test for the community. And guess what? He gets _shit _on…_all_ the time."

"Things are changing though! More people are accepting!" She exclaimed.

"Well, not fast enough!" I snapped back. "One issue at a time, Lay. It took over thirty years for the community to be okay with Supers marrying citizens. That was only because they could breed Supers efficiently. Whenever a Powerlack shows up, it's between two Supers…and that's unethical, unacceptable and _dishonorable_." I was really getting tired of the crying. My eyes were so sore, but yet they yielded another flood.

"My parents are the Commander and Jetstream…and their son is a Powerlack…No amount of political correctness is going to fix that…It's going to take another thirty years for Powerlacks to be truly accepted…especially because of me." I sniffled wetly, and wiped my nose on my sleeve. "Doesn't matter how unfair it is…"

Layla was freely crying now too. I let her pull me in, and rested my burning eyes against her shoulder.

"Will, I'm so sorry…" She choked out after a long time. The two of us were almost hiccupping from all the muffled sobbing.

I pulled away and rubbed gently at my eyes. "It's not your fault…don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I'll get a job and find my own way. Maybe Ethan or Magenta will let me stay a couple days or something."

"Please call me." She said solemnly, wrapping her arms around herself.

"I don't have a phone. But there's gotta be at least one phone booth left in existence." I leaned down and picked my guitar back up. Checking my watch, I saw that I could catch the midnight bus if I hurried. "I've gotta go."

"Be safe." She said, hugging me again.

I hugged her back, "I'll be fine." _I hope at least…_


	2. Shelter

**And here we continue Will's slow downfall.**

**This one's a bit more swear-y and violent. Mentions of abuse and whatnot. **

**Note my friends, I know that not all shelters are like this. There are very good places to go if you ever need to. It just sucks that too many situations end up a bit like Will's when one seeks refuge in places like that. **

**On a side note: How about I ruin St. Patrick's Day for you?**

**St. Patrick was not Irish. He was a British invader. He was not even named an actual Saint by the Church. The so-called "snakes" he chased out of Ireland were Pagans and Druid priests. They say it was one of the fastest mass conversions to Christianity. That's because any Pagan who refused to convert to Christianity was murdered. **

**The only reason this day is somewhat okay to me is that it's a few of my good friends' birthdays, a signal of the oncoming Equinox and ALSO the so-called Saint would be red-faced-livid, cat-piss angry as hell to see what drunken fools people make of themselves in his name. Teeheehee! :D**

* * *

Ethan had managed to convince his parents to let me stay for four days with his logical reasoning. In that time, I was out every day, filling out applications for work. But in the end, tradition wore out my welcome. Couldn't have a Powerlack around for too long. Especially if it ran the risk of bringing superior Supers down on their heads.

When I showed up at Magenta's house, I quickly learned why we had never been invited there. She had _nine _siblings.

Half of them with their powers already.

It was a kind of madhouse with all the kids running around in various states of shapeshifts. Magenta was the second oldest of the bunch. She had a job dishwashing in a café and another job painting houses to help her parents out a little, and to save money for herself. All of that makeup she wore wasn't just because she was all Goth and she liked it. It was also to cover up her tiredness.

It seemed like a fairly happy household nevertheless. Her parents had a few jobs with long hours to keep ends met, and Sky High tuition paid. No one was starving or anything. Everyone had nice clothes and the place was clean when all of the chores were done. It was almost like a well-oiled machine.

They didn't know that I was a Powerlack going in, so my being unable to stay wasn't because of that.

They just simply had no room. Her parents slept in the attic. Each bedroom had two or three kids in it, her one elder brother was back from SSF Canine Shifter training and was sleeping on one couch. Her cousin was staying on the other. Then an uncle was apparently coming to live on their sheltered porch for a few months because he'd broken up with his fiancé or something. There was just literally going to be no room for me.

But they'd suggested a youth shelter in the city that they occasionally donated to.

"They'll gladly help you." Her citizen mom had said.

So they let me crash on the porch that night. But the uncle had showed up in the morning, so I'd been fed, and promptly sent on my way.

That was what led me to this blue brick building. I glanced at the address on the piece of paper I'd been given to make sure I had it right. The sign out front said "Maxville Shelter for Youths" and it had a stupid mural with cartoony smiling kids.

_Yep…this is the place._

When I took one step up the sidewalk path lined with flowers, a young man dressed in shorts and a t-shirt came roughly out the front door. He slammed it effectively behind him and stomped down the stairs. For a minute, he paced, not noticing me. Huffing and puffing in anger, he took a cigarette from his pocket and stopped to light it. His blond hair was closely cropped. It showed off the large, horrible scar on the side of his head. It made my stomach turn.

Finally, he noticed me. He blew out a stream of smoke and sneered. "Another one? Great. You can have my bed. I'm getting kicked out of here tomorrow anyways."

"W-what?" I stammered. _Kicked out? _A place like this was supposed to take people in.

"Yep. See that sign there?" He pointed, placing his cigarette between his lips. "It says 'Youth'. That means anywhere between the ages of 11 and 17." He shook his head and stared at the cars going by on the street. He took the cigarette from his mouth and spoke smoke, "Tomorrow I turn legal. So, I get shipped out of here and relocated to some fucking halfway house for adults. Yippee."

Upon closer examination, I saw that he had _tons_ of scars. On his hands, his arms, his legs, his face, his neck…Some were fresher than others. Some looked like old burns. Road rash. Gashes. Defensive. Offensive. Self-inflicted.

And then there were some faded yellow and green bruises on his face. He had stitched around one eye where the bruising was the most noticeable.

When those hard blue eyes caught me staring, he self-consciously reached up to his face. Tenderly his fingertips followed the stitching and then wiped at his mouth. He studied me back for a minute, probably looking at my own faded bruises.

"Guess you come from a place kinda like where I came from." He frowned then and sighed out smoke. "Here's some advice, kid. Some that I wish someone had given me when I first started coming here,"

He made it sound like he'd been in and out of this place for years. Based on all of the scars, it seemed he had been.

"They'll offer you a bed. Take it. Do the chores they give you. They'll start giving you an allowance in a few weeks. Talk about your problems in counseling and group. They'll feed you and keep you clean for a while. But shelters like these only do short-term care." He looked sadder then, and shook his head. Unconsciously, he rubbed at the scar on his head.

"Don't let them convince you to see the people you don't want to see again. Don't let them convince you to try and change for that person. Don't let them convince you that that person can change. 'Cause then you'll end up like me."

He took a long drag off of his cigarette and looked at me directly. "How old are you?"

My guitar was beginning to feel heavy in my hand, so I set it down. "I just turned fifteen a little while ago."

At that he pressed his lips into a hard line. "The older you are, the more likely your problem is just a spat that can be talked out…the older you are, the more _mature_ you're supposed to be about dealing with 'situations'. They're gonna try to send you back home, kid."

My heart plummeted. Here I'd thought that this would be a safe place for me, and I'd never have to see them again. "I can't…I can't go back there…"

"That's what I said. They start it out with the legal stuff, an arranged meeting, trust me, I know. I've been here, foster care, and back home all over again." He chuckled.

"Adrian! Come ba-oh!" A woman's voice suddenly calling out made us both jump.

She was at the front door, with her burgundy hair packed neatly into a bun. She was wearing a blue, collared shirt with the name of the place stamped on it so she obviously worked there.

"Nancy! Look what I found!" The almost-eighteen year old gestured grandly at me. He took the cigarette from between his lips and chuckled, "Another abuse case."

"_Adrian_," Nancy scolded. She came down the steps and stood a few feet away from me. Smiling gently at me, she said, "Hello. My name's Nancy. You've met Adrian. What's your name?"

I contemplated turning and walking away. Adrian hadn't exactly painted a great picture of the place for me.

"It's okay, kid." Adrian said, looking more sincere as he flicked the last of his cigarette. "It has its flaws, but they'll take good care of you."

After a long moment, I finally answered, "Will."

* * *

I wasn't at the shelter for two weeks before they started asking about arranging a meeting with my parents…just like Adrian had said they would. I declined and gave no room for argument.

I still stayed. The bed was okay. A little stiff, but okay. The place was always clean because we each had chores to do to keep it running. The food was pretty good considering we took turns doing the cooking. I learned how to make eggplant parmesan, which I never thought I'd like.

It was an okay place. The staff was friendly for the most part, maybe a bit rough. Group was difficult for the majority of the time. I'd never heard so much swearing and crass language before in my life, and it was rubbing off on _me_. Then once in a while, a fight would break out. Or someone would get caught with cigarettes or pot and we'd all get in trouble for it. It wasn't luxury, but it was better than sleeping in an alley.

Another couple of weeks went by without too many hitches. I did my chores, and started getting an allowance. I had enough free time to listen to and play music. Sometimes the younger kids would come to my room and listen to me play. I was reading an old book of poetry from the small collection of donated books in the modest library in the building.

I'd never actually read Robert Frost before. I knew _Mending Wall_ by heart now. I don't really know what drew me to it. I guess I imagined myself Mr. Frost, walking that line, so different from his neighbor in every way. Whimsical Mr. Frost who wrote of magic and elves, wanted a friendly, carefree conversation with his neighbor and had no fear of land without boundaries. Mr. Frost who felt safe…

But things were pretty much okay. Sure, Samantha had clocked James in the nose again, but he'd deserved it this time for grabbing her ass.

I was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for soup when he did it. I saw it happen, and saw the spray of blood run down his face and shirt as he screamed out in pain. The sharp crack of his nose had made me wince. This time she'd broken it.

The staff came running over, and dragged them harshly even though there was no skirmish.

"God-fucking-damnit, Sam!" Ian, the staff cook yelled, jerking the sixteen year old by the arm.

"Ow! He grabbed my ass! I've told him to stop fucking touching me a hundred times! I warned him!" She screeched, holding her bloody hand to her chest. "He's lucky I didn't rip his cock off!"

Through his sobbing, James cried out wetly though the blood, "N-no I didn't! Fucking bitch is lying!"

I put down the knife, and gripped my fists on the counter. "Yes you did! I just fucking saw you do it!"

The staff looked at me for a second. I was probably the best-behaved of the over-fourteen bunch, so what reason did I have to lie?

"C'mon, we gotta take you two to see a doctor." Ian sighed hard.

They were escorted from the kitchen, leaving my and the others in there alone.

Sighing heavily myself, I went to the closet for the mop to clean up the blood on the floor. "Dave, don't let the chicken burn. The rest of us gotta eat."

* * *

"I heard you handled the incident in the kitchen today very well." Nancy said.

"I just told the truth."

She smiled, twirling her pen in between her fingers, "I know you did, but I meant afterward."

I shrugged, "I was hungry. It just made sense to finish cooking and get lunch on the table. Just because James is a pig, doesn't mean the rest of us have to starve."

Nancy chuckled, and tucked a stray lock of hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear. Then she wrote something down.

I'd stopped trying to see the notes she made during our talks over a week ago. It was pointless. Her handwriting was too small for one thing. I put it off as counselor-ish stuff, judging me and stuff…oh well.

"You're doing very well here, Will." She said brightly.

I tensed. "Thanks?" I had a sickened feeling as to where this conversation was going. Praise around here meant that they wanted something. Adrian had said "temporary care". Sure it had been nearly two months…but…

"I know we talked about this a few weeks ago, but I wanted to broach the subject again,"

"No," I snapped, clenching the arms of the chair.

"Will, please, hear me out here. There are steps that need to be taken. We need to establish,"

"I said _no_, Nancy."

She sighed sadly, looking down at her notes. "You've met Kenny? Our social worker?"

"Yes, I have. And still no."

"He's decided to call your parents and arrange a meeting."

"No!" I yelled, panic rising up into my throat. I jumped to my feet, "_You_ can't bring them here,"

"Will, there'll be counsel. Your situation is never going to improve if you don't,"

I fled. Oh fucking shit, my heart felt like it was beating out of my chest. The fear was coming off of me in waves as I sprinted to the room I shared with James. It was like that night all over again.

But this time I had enough sense to pack a bag.

Haphazardly, I stuffed my clothes into it, and packed up my guitar. It seemed that every time I was leaving a place, my eyes fell on one final thing that I wanted to take with me. Last time it was my guitar. This time, it was that worn copy of _Robert Frost's Poems_. This time I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the book from my bedside table and shoved it into the front most pocket of my bag.

When I turned to leave the room, James was standing there. He had two black eyes and a white strip over the bridge of his nose. "Hey, _twat-face_, thanks for selling me out!"

"Move, James."

He was nearly two years older and a foot taller than me. He could kick the crap out of me easily. And he was pissed.

"What if I don't?" He growled.

"If you don't, then I swear to fucking god, I will break your nose all over again." I hissed. He made to shove me, but I bore my weight forward. Instead, it was him who was shoved…effectively out of my way by my guitar case. I used it shove anyone in my way right out of it as I went down the halls. The front door was open to let the air in because of the wet floor a couple of the kids had just mopped.

"Will?"

"Where are you going?"

"Wait, Will! Please! You're making a mistake!"

Too late. I was already striding purposefully down the sidewalk. _Making a mistake, my ass._


	3. Twenty

**_Short and...well not exactly sweet. _**

**_Will's life is getting harder. _**

**_Prepare yourselves, cuz it's getting to that "how much?" lifestyle._**

* * *

_Yeah…I made a fucking mistake…_

I'd been officially homeless for a week and a half. I had no cash left. I'd applied to literally any place that had an application. Without a phone, I had to wander in and out of joints to check on the status of things.

Despite making a mistake, I couldn't go back to the shelter…or any shelter for that matter. Not if I would be faced with my parents again…especially now. I'd already tried going back there this week…

And I'd gotten slapped in the face for my efforts by my mother. Not my mother anymore. She told me that she was lucky that my…not-father hadn't been home.

_Powerlack, Powerlack, Powerlack…fuck me…_

I'd found a free shower in the locker rooms of the lakeside beach on this side of town. It was cold, but after washing and brushing my teeth in public bathrooms for a week, it was a godsend. Then I'd been using up what cash I'd had left on meager food, and washing my clothes. Oh, and bus fare.

This was the last night that I had money for it. The buses run almost 24/7, so I'd been paying my fare, curling up in the seat furthest back and sleeping. It wasn't ideal, but it was all I could do right now. After tonight, I wouldn't even have that.

Sitting there at the bus stop, I tried to stay awake. I was so tired. And hungry, and kind of damp because it had started pouring rain. It was dark, and the street was deserted. The bus would be here in maybe five minutes. While it never froze around here, it _was_ about halfway through winter. So the breeze and the rain were kind of cold.

Dozing off, I leaned against the glass panel of the booth. But I quickly jumped awake when I heard an umbrella close.

I glanced over, and saw a young man step under the shelter of the bus stop. He didn't look at me but lit up what didn't look like a cigarette.

That was how people were. They ignored each other. No kind words. Nothing. If there were words, they usually weren't very kind. So I rubbed at my eyes, trying to stay awake.

After a long time of silence, I could feel his eyes on me. And finally he said something. Something I was most certainly _not_ expecting.

"Hey, sweetheart, I'll give you ten bucks to suck my dick."

I jumped and looked up from my sneakers. The man who joined me in the bus stop was staring brazenly at me. He was probably in his early twenties, relatively handsome with well-combed brown hair, decently dressed and carrying a briefcase. He looked tired, maybe even sick. His eyes were kind of bloodshot, and that smoke he was smoking most certainly didn't smell like tobacco.

He smirked with a chuckle, sucking hard on the joint. "Sorry, I had a shitty day. I'm a coffee-fetching, paperwork-stacking assistant with a boss who's a lawyer-bitch cliché. I'm stoned. I have a terrible personality. And you're kinda pretty." He looked away, chuckling, glancing up the street for the bus.

A creepy douchebag. A total pig. _But…_

Nervously, I brushed my hair back away from my face, fighting off a shiver. I hadn't eaten well in over two days. I was starving, tired and…desperate.

"Twenty."

The guy paused, turning to look at me. Shock registered through the haze of weed, and he barked out a laugh. Looking away again, he went to take another hit. But he stopped and looked my way again, "Wait, are you serious?"

I paled, and looked down at my sneakers again. My resolve barely held as I nodded.

Then it was quiet for a long moment. When I peeked up at the young assistant, he looked to be contemplating. I hoped that he'd say no. The uncomfortable growl in my stomach hoped otherwise. I wanted so badly to say yes, that I _was_ kidding. _Say no, say no…_ I wanted him to just take the choice from me because right then I felt like I was going to dissolve.

"You know what? Why not?" He placed the joint carefully between his lips and looked at his watch. "The next bus is in twenty. Plenty of time to head back to the smoker's pavilion outside of my work building, get things done and catch it."

I said nothing, but stared quietly across the bus stop at him.

He laughed then, "I've done some crazy things, but nothing like _this_ before." He put out the joint and stuffed it back into his pocket. After he opened his umbrella, he jerked his head in the direction he must have come from, "You coming, pretty boy?"

I thought I might throw up.

"Well?"

Carefully, I rose to my feet, and picked up my guitar. Tucking my free hand into my pocket, I joined the assistant under his umbrella to keep dry.

Slowly, I shifted down to my knees. The concrete was cold and hard, but at least it was dry under the secluded smoker's pavilion. It looked out to the courtyard which was covered in flowers and plants. Lawyers didn't kid around when it came to landscaping I supposed. Despite the scenery, I shivered, wishing that this was _not_ happening.

Hell, I'd never even kissed anyone and I was about to…about to jump all kinds of steps. I was about to skip over any sense of morality I had and give a complete stranger a blow job…for _money_.

I mean…it wasn't rocket science. I was fifteen years old, so by now I'd managed to see a few pornos. And there had been a time or two when I'd wake up at night and see James getting blown by Terri the Deaf girl back at the shelter. Never hearing him talk had to have been the only reason she ever fooled around with him.

Nevertheless, I basically knew what I had to do…

But I'd also seen a bunch of crime shows, so I was nervous and jumpy. His movements were sluggish, so I didn't think the guy was took much of a threat. Not stoned like this at least.

"Well, go on," the assistant smiled down at me, taking the roach from his pocket and lighting it again.

_I can still back out…I can leave…right now._

But I couldn't…I was starving. So, with shaking hands, I reached to undo the young man's belt.

My stomach was turned as I pulled loose the button and zipper on his trousers. Reaching inside, I withdrew the assistant's half-hard prick.

At my tentative touch, it twitched in interest and began to swell. "Hey,"

I jumped and looked up at him. He was holding a condom. "No offense, kid, but I don't know where your mouth has been." The young man placed the foil into my hand and smirked, "Put it on me." Then he took a long hit and coughed slightly when he exhaled.

I didn't say anything about my mouth having been nowhere incriminating…_ever_.

Instead, I tore open the packet and took out the rolled up sleeve of latex. I'd been to Health class, so I knew the mechanics of these things. Quite frankly, I was grateful that the stranger had produced it. I hadn't even thought about it, and that was unacceptable. I was trying to survive, and if I got myself infected with something, then I'd be screwed. So, I placed it on the crown of the assistant's cock and rolled it on.

He shivered as my loosely clutching fingers moved down the shaft.

Then there was nothing else that I could do to stall this. The only comforting thought was that after this, I was heading to the nearest 24/7 diner for a bacon, cheddar cheeseburger with Cajun fries. My stomach growled in earnest at the mere thought. After that, I'd hop on the next bus and ride it till the end of the line, snoring until I got kicked off.

I told myself that I wouldn't _ever_ do something like this again. _Ever_.

I'd do my best to make this twenty stretch a few more days. Somebody had to hire me by then. I'd literally do _anything_.

As I took him into my mouth, I thought to myself, _Well, anything other than this… _


	4. How Much?

**The theatre business includes ridiculously long (but at last paid) hours away from home...and ge****tting things in order for graduate school includes a ridiculous amount of paperwork that also includes long hours away from home. **

**I casually hooked up with someone I see frequently at school (BAD IDEA, I KNOW) and now she's all confused and upset and all her friends are asking about my "intentions" with her...I don't understand humans as much as I thought I did...**

**So I went to the gym to clear my head, and I shared an upper body workout with a tall, sexy man who looked sorta like the love child of Nathan Fillion and Chris Pine...so that made me feel better.**

**So, sorry for the wait, here's a chapter. There's some fucking that I deem dub-con...just warning you.**

**Oh! And on top of all that, I hit my funny bone! Sniffle...**

* * *

Grunting, I held tightly onto the edge of the car. This man wasn't exactly being gentle. But then again, very few were.

Those horribly rough hands were gripping my hips so tightly and yanking me into his thrusts so hard that I knew there'd be bruises. The small cracks and splits in his palms were catching bitingly on my skin.

Well, at least he'd paid for any marks ahead of time.

He had to be in construction of something. Through the car window, I could see a well-worn yellow vest, a hard hat and a mess of tools.

The guy didn't also smell very good. It had been a relatively hot day for early March. Any physical labor he'd probably done during the day didn't exactly help his scent. The scruff on his face scratched uncomfortably against the back of my neck when he leaned close. His breath was hot and disgustingly moist as he set his teeth to me. And that bite stung like a _motherfucker_, also sure to leave a fucking mark.

The man pressed my body hard up against the vehicle, firmly engulfing me with those large, too-strong arms. I was having a little trouble breathing, but at the rate his hips were slamming into me and the way that stinking breath was quickening, I knew he was almost done.

It hurt, being stretched and used like this. But it was sixty bucks for a silent, hard fuck in an alley. Extra included for any marks he'd leave on me, permanent or otherwise not very concealable. So I did my best to hold in my noises of pain. His breath smelled more than vaguely of alcohol as it heavily puffed over my ear.

A groan was boiling up into the brute's throat, and at his frantic thrusting, he slid out. There was a frustrated growl, and those scratchy hands were pawing at my backside. It almost felt like dirt was left wherever he touched my skin. Those blunt fingers held me open so he could shove himself back inside me.

I couldn't help that little cry that left me no matter how I clenched my teeth. One of his hands pressed hard into my belly to bend my spine and to keep me still. The other hand went up to grab my right wrist and hold it far too firmly against the car roof.

_No. No, no, no!_

A panic pulled at my lungs and I yanked at my trapped wrist, breathing frantically. The construction worker breathed harshly out in annoyance, but he had a moment of clarity as he remembered my terms. "Fuck," He choked out and loosened his grip so that his hand was just settling over mine, and I could pull free easily if I wanted to.

That was better. Not great, but better. My heart rate slowed a little and the fear lessened.

Every so often, his cock managed to drag over my prostate. I guess that did make the encounter a little less…unpleasant. But I never usually expected any tricks to care about me getting off or not. This guy…I just wanted him to finish and leave. I did _not_ want those rough, cracked and calloused hands anywhere near my own prick. There mere thought of him touching me there just sounded uncomfortable, and painful.

"Moan," he breathlessly instructed, his strokes beginning to stutter again.

_Alrighty,_ I thought as he changed his mind about me being completely silent.

But I obliged him with a moan. It was fake, sure, but anything to get this ape off of me at this point. His fingers tightened around my hand, too tight for a second, but the grip loosened. "Again. Longer. Louder."

_Lay it on thick, okay._ So, I leaned the side of my face against his forearm, and let my mouth fall open. This sound was a little less false. Louder and longer like he wanted. More pained from the ache and discomfort rather than enjoyment, but _he_ seemed to enjoy it.

Okay, maybe a tiny bit of pleasure from a couple of rubs over the sweet spot inside of me. Nevertheless, I was still repulsed by this dirty, muscle-bound man.

Especially when his hips screeched to a shivering halt, pressing hard up into me. He groaned heartily against the back of my neck, still holding me tightly.

He rutted a little against my body as the waves of his orgasm took their sweet ass fucking time fading away. The brute was panting hard, and his grip was finally slack.

I felt a little dizzy. Blame that on being fucked none too gently and also not eating very much today. Oh and not being able to breathe properly with that tree of an arm shackled around my diaphragm. So, I held onto the roof of his car for a moment longer when his hand slid off of mine. He pulled out, and I heard the latex snap of the condom as he stripped it wetly off of himself.

I took a long, steadying breath and reached to pull up my pants. Everything felt raw and abused. I could feel the lube dripping out of me. Then again, I wasn't complaining too harshly about the latter. After bleeding my first time, excessive lube had become a part of my terms.

Still, I felt so disgusting…

However…the twenties in my pocket made up for it. After I zipped up my jeans, I slid my hands into my pockets to make sure the bills were still there. They were. Nice and neat, tucked into the smaller pocket. As was habit, my left hand curled around the knife I kept handy for emergencies. My thumb was poised on the switch, and I was telling myself that I was ready for anything.

Turning around carefully, I stepped away from the car. The man was buckling his belt, and he was mumbling about being _so_ late for something. He glanced at me, and I could tell that he felt extremely awkward. I'd figured that I'd been his first paid-for lay. He'd been desperate for it, so it had been easy to coax him into the alleyway.

"I gotta go." He grunted.

He was fiddling with the ring on his left hand. He'd been doing that the entire time he'd been watching me shoot pool back at _The Gray Cue_.

I averted my gaze away from him.

At this angle, I could see the empty child's car seat in the back of his car.

Biting down hard on the inside of my cheek, I backed away as calmly as I could. Because you don't turn your back on people. "Night."

He seemed to come back from wherever he'd gone and climbed into his car. The engine started and I hurried out of the alley the back way, weaving around the trashcans and filth. I hated this part of town. The place couldn't decide if it was sophisticated or shit. Probably both. A sophisticated shithole. And it was too damn close to White Hills…

But it was a good place to make some money.

It had a fairly good balance. Like Mr. Construction Worker back there, I could make a little extra because he was the respectable married type, desperate and foolish enough to pay more. _And_ he was seedy enough to do it. Like I said, a sophisticated shithole.

Now I just wanted to head back to my squalid excuse for living quarters, and wash up. Once out of the alley and back onto the street, I glanced in either direction. It wasn't too crowded for a Friday. This strip was a common way to head to the bars and clubs deeper in the city. The _Cue _where we'd come from was up a ways.

In the distance I could see people standing out front, smoking and chatting. I'd only been there twice. First time, I'd wasted ten bucks on a game, trying to catch someone's attention, someone willing to pay that is. That didn't work. This time, it worked.

I wasn't the type to work places that were too public, not after I saw someone get picked up for the same thing I was doing. So that would be the last time I pulled such a crowded public lure like that for a while. I needed the money, and now I had it.

Checking my watch, I saw that it was about half past midnight. I missed the bus, but there would be another in about twenty minutes. The stop was a ten minute from here anyways, on foot. So I turned and started walking. Well, sort of walking. Had to limp a tiny bit. Mr. Construction Worker had been big and rough in all aspects.

I heard a motorcycle gun to life down the road behind me at the _Cue_. A warm breeze brushed over my face. A night runner on the other side of the street went sprinting by. I walked by a set of steps to an apartment building where a couple of girls a few years older than me were sitting, smoking a J and taking shots of cheap Fireball.

I appreciated the warmth after freezing my ass off through the winter months. Sure, heat would eventually be an issue because for one thing, my place didn't have AC. But I supposed I could open the window and buy a fan to put in it…

The motorcycle was coming my way, and slowing down now.

My shoulders tensed, and my left hand slid into my pocket to clutch at my knife. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

"Stronghold."

I froze.

Nobody had called me that in a _long_ time.

That was because that wasn't a name I gave people anymore. It was just Will now. Well, to my so called "landlord" it was Will Reynolds because he needed a last name on his paperwork to seem legit. I liked _Firefly_…what could I say?

My own little private jokes aside, I turned to look at this guy who knew my name.

Leather jacket, dark jeans and boots. And through the unbuckled helmet I saw dark chocolate brown eyes. They were hard, observant…and familiar. The motorcyclist's chuckle was muffled under his helmet. Then he reached up and pulled it off, spilling out long dark hair with a single streak of red.

The motor on his Harley was the only noise between the two of us for a long, uncomfortable moment. Just my luck that Warren Peace would find me. The looks this guy used to give me in the halls at Sky High had been menacing as hell. The pissed off heat would literally coil off of him in hazy waves. I remember easing out of his path several times, eyes submissively looking down, in hopes that he wouldn't set me on fire. I was sure that if I had been in school much longer, he would have probably snapped and beat my ass to a pulp on account of hating me…well, the _Commander_ so damn much.

_Maybe I can convince him that I hate the asshole as much as he does…maybe then he won't punch me in the face…I don't like getting punched in the face…_

My hand loosened slightly around the knife in my pocket as he stared at me. He actually didn't look pissed at all now that I studied him more closely. _That's new…_

"Well now, it _is _you…Wonder what Daddy would think if he knew his son was turning tricks." He chortled, looking pointedly at the base of my throat where the unwashed brute had bit me.

If I wasn't caught off guard before, I sure as hell was now. _How the hell did he know?!_ I put a hand over the mark and started going over the encounter in my head. I was positive that while me and Mr. Construction Worker were still in the _Cue_, I had only implied my…well, "services" in the form of pool game terms and I'd spoken quietly…apparently not quietly enough.

How the fuck had I not noticed Warren fucking Peace in there? I was so focused on making some money, that I wasn't even paying enough attention to my surroundings? People got hurt or killed doing stupid shit like that. I'd heard enough horror stories to not care whether or not they were true!

I came out of my fog to see the pyro still staring at me, face serious and calculating.

"I dunno what you're talking about. Besides, 'Daddy' isn't what I'd call him. I'd probably call him something more like 'Asshole', 'Shit-dick, or 'Moist Douchebag'." I said, more than a little grumpily. It was only a plus that it was informing a dude who possibly meant me harm that he might not have a reason to anymore. Those _were_ in fact words that I would use in place of anything kind or formal.

_I especially like that last one._

Warren cocked an eyebrow, "'Moist Douchebag'…that's an unfortunate name."

I shrugged, "It's fitting."And I took a few steps, and made to start walking again. Thankfully, Warren seemed to be staying put. But then he said, "Didn't think you went for the burly, grungy, unwashed types."

I paused and looked over my shoulder, "Doesn't exactly matter what I'm into because it's none of your business." I regretted how harshly my tone came out, or that I had said anything at all. _How has he _not_ punched me in the face yet?_

The pyro did scoff though. And it was quiet for another awkward moment. I found myself staring at the firebird stitched onto the black shirt stretching over his chest. It looked cool…powerful. Kinda like the one wearing it. I knew how powerful this firebird was the day I first saw him. It was obvious how strong his powers were, and yet, I knew that he had even more tucked away inside that he didn't show. It was the way pyros were according to all the stories Moist Douchebag had told me about fighting Baron Battle.

If Warren's powers were anything like Cerberus's, then he too had a raging inferno locked away inside. Powerful enough to do damage but still maybe do good. That's what fire did, right? Gave off heat, but destroyed anything it touched. That gave me something to fear.

Even with the nonchalant, not-give-a-shit attitude I was wearing, I was still afraid of him.

"You got any idea how surprised I was to see you back in the _Cue_? You've changed…a lot. You're not exactly that oblivious little idiot that strutted around,"

"I didn't strut,"

He cocked an eyebrow again, like he didn't believe me, "That idiot would've never _lowered_ himself to selling his body off for cash."

My lips pressed into a tight line. _Now I see what this is. _"Listen, Warren. If you came running after me to try and make me feel like trash, you're wasting your time. I've been kicked out of the house I grew up in. I've got no powers. I've got no friends. I live in a shitheap. And I trade my _holes_ for money. I _literally_ got nothing to lose except my life. So if you're not here to kill me, I think we've got nothing to talk about."

"Heard you got kicked out for being a Powerlack." He nodded.

I resisted a flinch. It had been a long time since anyone had called me _that _too. I'd been living as a citizen for about half a year now. And I made it a point to avoid any Supers.

I recovered and gestured grandly around myself, "Well, look at that. The rumors true."

Warren snorted, and smirked at me then, "You've become a little asshole, Stronghold."

My jaw clenched, "_Don't _call me that." It was best that I just walk away. Son of bitch was making me so angry. Mocking me. Stepping on me. But I stayed put, recklessly hoping that he'd punch me already so I could stick him with my knife. I wasn't the violent type. I didn't like it. I didn't like being insulted. I didn't like being rough, or being dealt with roughly. I _didn't_ like it. So why couldn't the world just catch a hint already and leave me alone?

I scowled back as the firebird studied me. He shook his head at something. And what he said next might've made my jaw hit the sidewalk if I hadn't been so tense.

"So, how much?"


	5. Blackout

**Look what I did instead of finishing my final paper for Shakespeare and studying for my Medieval final! Whoo! **

**So I'm taking plot further than I thought, but it ain't gonna be too much further. There is plotty sex...it's just not Warren/Will...yeah sorry...it's also not male/male...I realized while writing it that I've never really written much about straight sex on FF...I was downright shocked. I enjoy sex in all forms, how dare I be nervous to write about a vagina! Vaginas are cool! I owe it to my years performing in Vagina Monologues to say 'vagina'! **

**But it's also from Will's point of view so he gets to stay in character. **

**You'd be surprised what sex-workers go through. It's fucked up sometimes...**

* * *

'_How much?'…you have _got _to be kidding me…_

I shook the astonishment from myself, and glared at Warren. He was still taunting me. He had to be…so I gathered up any snark I had left in my worn out body and snapped at him, "Well, I usually make it a point to charge extra to people who are obviously asswipes. Ya know, kinda like you."

The pyro smirked, "You _are_ funny, Stronghold."

My jaw and fists clenched, "Stop. Fucking. Calling. Me. That. And leave me alone." I had to get out of this conversation. The bus would be here soon, and I really just needed to wash up lay down. The seat of my jeans felt damp from the leftover lube that was taking its time to dry.

It was my own fault anyways for wasting money on real good lube. However, I couldn't help the fact that in the midst of being pounded into whatever surface I'd get thrown against, dried up lube was useless; also real painful and inconvenient for me. Not that it seemed to really bother unaware tricks.

I _always_ made them use condoms. But I couldn't help imagining cum dripping out of my hole. It skeeved me the fuck out to imagine it. Dirty and used. A disgusted shudder went through my chest as I turned and did my best to march up the street, away from my tormentor.

It was quiet for a minute, my slight limp a little more than slight now as I moved quicker.

The firebird rolled up beside to me again, and matched my pace. For a few minutes he weaved lazily back and forth on his side of the street. _Just go away already…_

He spoke again, "You've _really_ got me curious. From the way you're gimping along, it looks like you took an ass-beating back there. Exactly how much did it cost that guy to do that to you?"

"None of your business, now fuck off."

"I'm curious. And I'm also serious."

I stopped. Is he joking? I stared at the pyro, searching his dark eyes. What could I make of it? Nobody showed interest in me that didn't involve a few Jackson's and at least six minutes of fondling.

My snark supply was running thin. "I'm touched that you care so much about me, but why the hell are you so…_interested_ in my life? In school, I'm pretty sure you only wanted to kill me."

He smirked again, glancing down the street. "You're less pathetic now. Well, still pathetic, but in a different way I guess."

"Gee, thanks."

"And I'll admit, the idea of pounding the Commander's scorned son into a mattress," he smirked, "does have its appeal."

I frowned. Up until that point, I hadn't thought that he'd been serious.

"Wouldn't that just ruffle his proud feathers, eh?"

"I don't do this to 'ruffle his feathers', Peace. I do this for money. I do this to pay for a place to stay, to pay for food. I do it to survive."

"Woulda thought that your little Sidekick friends would've helped you out. Guess there's no niceties when a Powerlack is involved." He said, no longer smirking.

I stopped limping, and he stopped beside me. I wanted to say something. But I couldn't find words that wouldn't put me on a step lower than the pyro. It had been a long time, but I kind of wanted to cry. Usually, I did my best to avoid thinking of the unfairness of my life. It led to dark feelings and thoughts that I didn't care to visit willingly.

"I know you're enjoying yourself and everything, come to think of it, I think this is the most I've ever heard you talk...but I'd really appreciate it if you'd just let me forget my life from before."

"Fine by me...Will."

I looked up at him again. That was the first time he'd ever called me Will, too. His actual words were kinder, but he didn't look or sound very friendly. But the firebird didn't seem mocking. Just curious and stone-like I suppose.

"So, about that mattress pounding,"

I almost laughed in disbelief. He couldn't be serious! He was fucking with me again...If so, I played back, that cold exterior I'd built for myself coming back. "I'm off the job right now."

"I figured as much, given the way you're walking and your pleasant, sparkly attitude. I don't want some playing-straight, uptight, sweaty, closeted fag's sloppy seconds anyways."

I was a little offended at being referred to as 'sloppy seconds'. But I did concede that Mr. Construction Worker's stench was on me and that he was totally a closeted homo.

"Tell you what, I'll be at the Cue Friday night. Whether or not you come is up to you."

_He's fucking_ _serious_...

I glanced back down the street at the lights of the pool bar, and shook my head. "I...I can't." I couldn't do anything public around here for a long while. I'd have to concede to my usual spot and hope for better business so as not to be caught in the more populated areas of town.

Warren clenched his jaw slightly, "Alright then." Then he ducked his head and went to put on his helmet. He seemed to think I was saying no because I didn't want his money or that I was not willing to uh _work_ with him...

These days especially, I wasn't the type to turn down money. I most of the time did not particularly enjoy how it came to me. So what was another trick? This one just happened to be Warren Peace. A pyro-kinetic powerful enough to singe me off the face of this planet. He was a scary guy. But then I found most of my 'clients' frightening.

_I could use the money..._

"I can't go to the Cue for a while. If you noticed, who knows who else noticed. I'd rather not get caught."

The pyro paused as he was buckling the strap of his helmet under his jaw. "Well, that's understandable." His voice was a tad muffled.

"I have terms."

He studied me for a little bit, slipped his helmet back off and turned off his motor. Warren then set his helmet in his lap, and looked at me expectantly. Probably deciding if, with my terms, I was worth the time and money.

"I don't do anything without protection."

"I would hope not."

Uncomfortably, I continued, "I won't do it without a few palms of lube. I'm alright with being treated roughly. I'm okay with pain. But any marks left behind, hard to hide or...permanent cost more."

"When you say 'treated roughly', how roughly?"

"I don't do knifeplay." I said quickly. And tried to keep the shake out of my voice when I added, "And I do not do bondage of any kind. That includes holding down my hands or pinning me down."

An ember of curiosity waved through Warren's eyes. But he nodded.

"I don't do blindfolds, bull-whips and I don't do 'watersports' or things related to them,"

He smirked a little at that.

I didn't find it funny. Going over my terms always made me jittery. It made me think of those men. The blurred scars around my wrists and ankles, and the precise scars all around my body reminded me every day. The dreams of the pain, the inability to escape, the fear, the humiliation, the knowledge that it was somewhere on the internet...it made me sick to my stomach.

"Anything else?"

"Other than all that, I'm generally game," I looked at the thrilled wave of fire that moved through his eyes, and I swallowed, "Although I...I'd rather you not burn me, or set me on fire."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Fine. So, what, do you do this by the hour? What?"

I shook my head, "I'm not an escort."

"Right, too classy for you."

I gave him a sardonic look and decided to ask a price I've never asked before. It would most likely get him the hell away from me. "One hundred. Plus five for each mark you leave on me."

The firebird snorted, "You're an expensive piece of ass."

"There _is_ that asswipe fee I mentioned earlier…" I shot back, crossing my arms challengingly. He was gonna turn me down, insult me and leave. There was absolutely _NO_ way I was worth a hundred bucks. These days my earnings from one trick rarely exceeded forty. My clientele weren't exactly the rich types. This wasn't Pretty Woman.

"Done. Where can I find you Friday night around 10?"

"Wait, what?"

"Where am I picking you up? I'm not sleazy enough for a trashy alleyway so we'll go back to my place."

_What?_

Robotically, I told him that I could be at the bus stop up the road from here at about 10:15 because of the bus times. Warren promptly accepted, buckled on his helmet, turned over his bike and took off.

I stared for a long moment after he'd gone and then sighed hard, running a hand through my hair. _Fuck, what the hell have I gotten myself into…?_

* * *

"Ooh, yes William. Your teeth this time."

Obliging her, I grazed my teeth along her throat.

Mrs. Deane tilted her head back, and sighed elegantly, her loosely braided hair lying beside her head. Her soft hands caressed my stinging, probably red ass making me wince, "Now kiss your way down."

I hadn't expected this to come of my evening...It was late Wednesday night, a busier night of the week...Hump Day and all the jokes...but I'd stood for hours without making any money. So this was really a surprise.

For one thing, you were much more likely to see a dude rolling around looking for a whore. Two, the times I'd seen women roll up, they'd pick up guys older and handsomer than me, even other women sometimes. Women _never_ picked me. I nearly died when she'd pulled her car up next to me. I'd almost said no when she asked me if I was available through her window because I'd been so shocked…and nervous.

That nervousness was repeatedly sending shivers up and down my spine. Mrs. Deane was a pretty lady. Tall, maybe thirty-two with long blonde hair and cunning hazel eyes.

And she was a _woman_.

I'd gotten in her car and went back to her motel room. In the parking lot, while starting to explain my terms, I'd blushingly blurted out a confession that I'd actually never been with a woman before. She'd only smiled, told me it was okay; that she wouldn't break any of my rules and that at absolute worst she only wanted to spank me a little.

In another world, I'd be concerned with her inclination towards fifteen year old boys, but my life wasn't like that anymore. Hell, I once had to let a sixty year old man fuck my mouth while I was sitting on a dildo, so age at this point didn't really mean much.

But what was with people wanting to beat me all the time? Why couldn't nice, normal, _vanilla_ people go out looking for a cheap fuck? I wasn't hard-wired to enjoy being hurt. In fact, the opposite. I didn't like it, because pain had a thing about being fucking painful.

Still, swatting the hell out of my backside seemed to please her, so okay. It was her money. Guess she had a weird 'naughty little boy kink'. She even insisted that I call her _Mrs. Deane_.

I got to her lower tanlines and paused, looking nervously up at her. She smirked, spreading her legs wider. I'd seen vaginas in porno mags and videos before, but never one up close. It was _new_ to say the least. And refreshingly different than all of the rigid, jabby pricks I'd been dealing with.

She tore open a little foil and I swallowed hard, thinking it was a condom. But it turned out to be a…sheet of latex?

"Dental dam. Your terms." She smiled, placing it snugly over her folds, " Now the fun really begins. Flatten out your tongue and lick me."

As nervous as I was…this was thrilling. I liked women. I _really _liked women. Mrs. Deane was very pretty. She had no hard angles with her curves. Her skin was smooth. The sounds she made were small and gentle. She wasn't covered everywhere in hair. She didn't taste or smell like balls.

Her soft belly tightened and her fingers slid under my tongue, "Here, William. Oh, good boy."

I jumped almost off the bed when there was a banging on the door. "Annie! Annie! It's Lloyd! Open up!" A man called.

Before I could pull away, Mrs. Deane's hands came to slide into my hair. "Don't stop, sweetie." She said sweetly, guiding my mouth back down to her warmth. "Suck here, gently."

His deep voice called again, making me stiffen considerably, "Annie! Open the door! I see the light on! I know you're in there!"

Mrs. Deane didn't answer, just let out a soft little gasp, tightening her grip on my scalp a little bit. I was scared out of my head with the thumping on the door from the yelling man outside…and halfway to Nirvana with how hard I was. And I couldn't believe how stupid it was! No wonder guys got in so much trouble over pussy…

"Who's that?" I managed to ask when I realized that the possibility of him busting through the door and beating me up existed.

"My ex-husband Lloyd. Don't mind him, sweetie." She said, hazel eyes twinkling and a mischievous smile glinting. She pressed my head back down and said again, "Don't mind him."

"_Annie_! This isn't right! I saw you pick up that little whore! That kid can't be more than sixteen! You have to stop this shit!"

A shiver went down my spine and another realization wriggled into my head. _What if he calls the cops?_

I tried to pull away again, but her hands encouraged me to stay. They were lenient and gentle, not forcing me at all. "Don't stop, William. Just ignore him. You can use a finger now."

"Annie! Fucking seriously, what is your problem?! You threw me out, you started making pot brownies, you're selling the house, and now you're fucking minors again?! Annie! Open the door!"

Mrs. Deane sighed in annoyance. "Lloyd, I'm very busy right now-oh! Very good, William. I'll pretend to listen to you later!"

This was a first in my experience. Mrs. Deane's ex-husband yelling and door-pounding was making me nervous, but Mrs. Deane just did _not_ give a fuck. She seemed to have full faith in the locking mechanism on the door. But then again, I wondered if she'd even care if it gave out and he saw what was happening in here.

"Annie! You are a _teacher_ for Christ's sake!"

_THAT'S a little disconcerting. _

"Enough, William." She suddenly gasped, pushing me away.

The _teacher_ sat up and kissed me. My mouth was so dry, and surprisingly I was still hard even with the yelling and the words being yelled. I wondered for a minute if any of Mrs. Deane's students were my age. If she really did get her rocks off on fucking young boys.

That condom she was rolling onto my erection cleared that up real quick. I felt a little woozy.

"ANNIE! _Please_! You're gonna mess up your life even more!"

"Lloyd! Not now!" She yelled back, watching me as she took a firm hold of my cock and my hip. "Raincheck!" The woman pulled me in close, guiding me to press against her. I swallowed and grunted when she pulled me in by my hips.

Everything in my body clenched at the wet heat now surrounding me. Her muscles clenched around me, rippling and twitching. The teacher let out a blissful sigh, laying her head back. "Fuck me now, William." She breathed.

I could hear her ex-husband outside the door, sobbing now. "Annie, you need help! Please! Let me help you!"

Her soft hands jerked me into her by the hips, bringing a groan out of either of us. "My young friend here is already providing me with assistance thank you very much Lloyd!" She called, guiding my hips to piston into her.

A moan bubbled up my throat and I finally got the idea, thrusting by myself. I'd never done the fucking before…and never a woman. She smelled like vanilla, and she'd obviously showered recently. She was probably the best 'client' I'd ever had…aside from being twice my age, and the man outside the door having a break-down, it was fucking _awesome_.

"Ow," I winced when she slapped my stinging ass. _And besides that. _

Suddenly, she shoved me off of her. With a wild sound she pushed me onto my back and mounted me like a lion…ess. My sore backside was painful against the sheets, but with this beautiful naked women rocking back and forth on top of me, it made it better. I'd never appreciated boobs more than I did now.

Her fingers rubbed at herself near where my prick was spearing her as she bounced frantically. "I am _so_ close, William, you have _no _idea." The teacher sounded surprised.

She traced her free hand down my face and placed it on my chest to support herself. Some baser instinct was encouraging me to thrust up, just keep up that wonderful friction. Mrs. Deane moaned as I held onto her hips and followed my instincts. I just wanted so badly to,

"Annie! If you don't open the door right now, I'm calling the cops!"

_That_ made me screech to a stop. Even Mrs. Deane slowed down to a halt. With an irritated sigh, she heaved herself off of me and strode towards the door.

"Wait, no!" I tried, diving off of the bed for my clothes.

But the teacher unlocked and opened up. And she stood there, cockily leaning against the doorway in all of her nakedness.

The man that stood there was tall and lean with short cropped brown hair. He had tears streaked down his cheeks. He glanced behind him and nudged her inside, "People'll see you, cover up." And then he looked past Mrs. Deane at me.

I was yanking on my jeans, damning the hard-on I had.

"You know, for the first time in six years, I was just about to orgasm with a penis inside of me." The teacher taunted as he closed the door.

But then he was stomping towards me.

"Lloyd, wait, what're you doing?" Mrs. Deane started.

I couldn't even get my hands up in time before he punched me in the face. "Little punk!"

"FUCK, LLOYD!" she yelled as I went down hard.

Terror broiled in my gut, tears springing to my eyes at the explosion of pain in my jaw. I made myself as small as I could, curling up against the wall, covering my face and tucking my knees against my ribs.

Panic seized through my veins, and my blood pounded in my ears. I was back there, in that room in the warehouse. Cameras on me, cruel laughter. Naked and afraid. Unable to move. They were gonna piss on me again. Afraid that the next kick or punch would break my bones. Afraid that they'd cut me, or whip me again. That they'd actually kill me.

A voice broke through the void. I flinched when someone touched me. "Shh, shhh, it's okay, William. It's just me, Mrs. Deane."

It was soothing. The hands were soft and gentle, stroking my hair. I looked up carefully and it really was Mrs. Deane. She was just really fuzzy. I was in that 4-star motel room.

_I'm not there. I'm not there. I'm not there._

Lloyd stood off to one side, frowning. He was fuzzy too. "I-I, I'm,"

"Shut _up_, Lloyd. He's got PTSD, and you triggered it, moron." She snapped back at him. Then she looked back at me, smiling very softly, "It's okay, William. Just take a deep breath. That's it, breathe in…and out."

I came to realize the fuzziness in my vision were tears. Mrs. Deane had me breathing deeply, bringing me out of that place.

"There you are, it's alright, William. You're safe, I promise."

"I-I know this whole thing isn't your fault," Lloyd started, taking a step forward. Mrs. Deane cut him off, "Shut up, Lloyd." and made him take a few steps backward.

"Come on, William. Here we go, that's it, up we go." She got me to my feet and then sat me on the edge of the bed.

My arms felt numb and I could barely feel her hands holding mine. She brushed my hair out of my face and buttoned up my pants for me. "I'm sorry, William."

_You keep saying my name…over and over…_

"Because it helps keep you grounded, keeps you here."

I hadn't realized that I'd spoken out loud. "How do you know?"

"I'm crazy. And I teach psychiatry."

* * *

All of a sudden, I was standing at the door with Mrs. Deane pressing eighty dollars into my hand. I was dressed and she had a robe on. Everything felt like a blur.

"This is too much." I said, looking questioningly into her eyes.

"I threw in another thirty because of Dumbass over there." She glared over her shoulder at Lloyd, who was sitting solemnly in a chair by the far wall. "It was fun up until that point," She said, gently touching my face, turning it to look at my jaw. It hurt. And I remembered that he'd punched me.

"Take care of yourself, William." The teacher said, giving me a kiss. And then she closed the door.

A minute later, yelling from inside the room broke me out of my stupor. I hightailed it out of there, recalling the threat of the cops, and getting punched in the face and then the vague feeling of being swallowed by a hole.

I puked when I got to the bottom of the stairs, just barely missing my own shoes. The burn in my throat hurt. I hurt. Not just my jaw where Lloyd had hit me, but all over. It had been a little while since my last episode. I'd blocked out memories of them so I'd forgotten how exhausted and wrung out I felt after them.

Checking my watch, I saw that the 225 would hit the Lark street bus stop in three minutes. If I could get myself running, I could catch it.

The thought of running made me want to puke again, but I didn't think I'd be able to walk home from here. I just wanted to sleep. Maybe I wouldn't even make it home if the lull of the bus ride put me to sleep. That sounded more appealing than fuzzily stumbling my way home longer than I'd have to if I caught the bus.

_Bus…_

* * *

I blinked and I was sitting on the 225, the bright lights burning my eyes. My legs were sore as fuck, and there was blood staining my right pant leg around my knee where I'd probably fallen down running.

Groaning, I rubbed at my face. _Fuck…these blackouts again…Next time I have an episode, I'm gonna wake up dead… _

"You should quit them drugs son,"

I glanced up between my fingers and saw an old lady sitting across from me. Gray braids were gathered on her head into a bun, and she had a basket cart folded next to her that read: "WWJD?"

"Piss off." I grunted, and dropped my face back into my hands to avoid seeing her appalled face. _I _hope_ I wake up dead next time…_


	6. Offers and Orders

**I work ten hour overnight shifts now at a third job now. Chasing money and chasing dreams with very little time to do anything else aside from try and keep myself healthy. ****Despite my long absences, I will NOT leave a story unfinished. There's only a couple of chapters left in this one, and I hope that the content (no matter how dark and fucked up) will make up for it. **

**Loveless, and all of you still out there reading my stuff, thanks.**

* * *

I think that the light traded places with the dark maybe three times through the frosted, grimy window. I could just barely recall the hazy stumbles to the toilet, and wearily forsaking the battle with the twist tie on the bread package. And then there was that particularly frightening moment where I'd come to with my switch in my hand, blade out and ready to saw open my opposite wrist. I think I'd dropped it and puked…

The nausea was further away now as I finally managed to block the darkness from my mind. The awful discomfort in my stomach told me that whatever I had eaten in the last three days had not been nearly enough. My body felt hot and unwashed, and there was the stench of vomit nearby.

_Yep…I fucking puked._

I was curled up into the fetal position amongst my salvaged, secondhand (maybe fourth-hand) blankets. It took a few long moments, but I managed to roll out of the makeshift nest I'd feverishly made for myself.

My vision could focus without straining now, and I could easily see that my place was an utter mess. Then again, there wasn't a whole lot to make a mess of. It was a tumbledown old studio that was as under the table as any midtown slum could be. The small fridge needed a kick every once in a while and I had to let the water run a moment to let the rust dispel itself.

In the kitchenette, the small table had tape remnants and marks under it that made me assume that some illegal things had been hidden there. I'd vehemently asked no questions about the singed spoons that I'd found in the drawers amongst the other sparse, dirty silverware. One of the two chairs was missing a leg. There were burn marks on the floor and the counters. There were several tiles missing from the walls in the bathroom. It always had a scent of must about it. And then there was always the lingering smell of pot and incense that came through the vent from the neighbor's.

Parched, I slowly made my way to the sink, holding onto anything I could along the way to steady myself. When I twisted the faucet, it took a long minute for water to even spout, and when it did, it ran reddish brown as per usual. I was so thirsty that for a second I almost dove in to swallow down the filthy liquid. I only had to deny myself a moment longer when it finally managed to clear itself.

I drank greedily and it hit my stomach painfully. But the coolness of it was a relief. It made my tongue feel less thick and dry. Twisting the faucet off, I looked at the bread on the counter. The side of the plastic sleeve was torn open and bits of the sliced loaf were strewn around with bites taken out of them.

It was stale and a bit moldy. I couldn't believe I'd done that. Checking the fridge, I saw that there wasn't much to eat either. The cheap, packaged bologna had gone bad two days ago, but the processed cheese slices were alright. I checked the cupboards and found some cheap canned vegetable soup. I had to eat something. Hell, I sunk right down to the floor and devoured the packaged cheese and cold soup right from the can.

Shuddering at the food in my belly, it was awful and relieving at the same time. I knew that I'd eaten too quickly, but with my hunger, I hadn't been able to help myself. I sat there for a long while, fighting the urge to puke, rubbing a soothing hand over my stomach. _Ugh, I want to die…_ Then I thought of the moment of clarity when I'd nearly slit my wrists sometime in the past three or four days and promptly changed my mind.

I sat there, wallowing in my self-deprecation and weariness. I'd been doing so well. I hadn't had an episode like that for weeks. I hadn't let this happen to myself in ages, it seemed. Looking around my apartment, I felt a lump form at the back of my throat. My eyes burned with tears as I settled my face on my drawn up, bony knees.

I was weak. Broken and pitiful. PTSD-ridden little Powerlack. Fucking people twice my age to make a quick buck because _apparently_ all available positions in anything resembling a real job were filled and no additional help was needed.

A brief moment of panic grasped my lungs. Hoisting myself to my feet, I charged towards the bed and looked around for the jeans I'd been wearing. _Fuck, no, no, no. I didn't lose the money. That was eighty fucking dollars! Fuck! Shit, where is it?_

I found the jeans. I'd puked on them during my fever. With quivering fingers I dug into the pockets and a relieved sigh left me as I produced the folded bills. They smelled like vomit, but fuck it all because money was money. I could cover the last of what was owed of my rent, and I could hit the corner market again to put some food in the fridge.

That would pretty much leave me strapped for cash again until I could draw in another…

_Fuck…Warren._

* * *

I didn't think I'd see him again. It came mostly as a relief. But still, that would have been a hundred dollars… Part of me regretted missing that chance. I would've been able to save a little again, for a short time at the least. Barely surviving in the slums was less than I wanted. But what could I possibly do? I had a fake name, no real job, no friends.

"Reynolds. You listenin'?"

"Yeah, I heard you, Leif." I mumbled, glancing back up at the tall, skinny blond man.

"Don't look like you was listenin'." Shawni interjected with her usual sassy concern.

When I'd said no friends, I'd meant of the decentish kind.

I wouldn't consider two people who turned tricks in relatively the same area as I did exactly friends. Sure, we'd looked out for one another once in a while. Leif had waited for me outside until I'd gotten done with some rather sketchy customers. I'd spotted Shawni a few bucks a few times, which she very seldom paid back.

"I was listening." I insisted. "I'm just…thinking." That wasn't a lie. It had been difficult to get the pyro off of my mind in the past week. He wasn't relevant in this moment however, so I pushed him from my thoughts to consider the offer.

Leif had said that a 'friend' of theirs was looking for another seller. He'd said he'd offer me up if I was interested in making some extra cash. It didn't sit right in my stomach despite the promise of a fairly decent amount of money to be made if there was any truth to Leif's words. I briefly attempted to imagine myself sniffing around for buyers. I wondered if I'd be any good at it. I'd smoked weed once before back in the shelter. James had been feeling pretty generous that night. That summed up my experience with drugs.

And I didn't even know what kind of drugs I would be selling with Leif and Shawni. If I ever got caught doing what I do, prostitution would be enough… possession and intention to sell? Well, that was something I just did not need.

Where I stood in my usual spot on the edge of Garish Street, I shook my head. "I appreciate you thinking of me, guys. But I think I'm good."

The odd pair glanced at one another and then Leif shrugged, "Suit yourself. Let me know if you change your mind." The two turned and went across the street to stand together in their spot, murmuring and whispering.

_Yeah. Not exactly friends._

I glanced up the one-way street and saw headlights of a car approaching. The twelve young people lined sparsely along Garish barked and called and hooted to the driver as it cruised slowly along. It was slim pickings these days with a couple of new, prettier faces.

I wasn't going hungry yet. The canned soups and the almost-expired case of ramen maintained. But I had to save. I had to keep saving if I was ever going to get out of here.

I got hopeful as the car continued, closer and closer. But disappointment settled in me when the car came to a stop beside a girl with fire engine red hair and a plaid miniskirt.

A grimace came across my face after she climbed in and the car went by. I was pretty sure that the driver had been a city council member or something that I'd seen on the news on the TV in the corner market before.

_Old guys and school-girl fetishes…_

I stared down at the ground and tried not to remember. There'd been a girl wearing a dirty plaid skirt leaving the warehouse that day. She'd looked teary, red-faced and disheveled, but was unabashedly carrying a huge wad of money in her fist. That had been the only thing on my mind even though it should have been a clear warning.

_"__We'll give you five hundred bucks if you come do a little performance for our cameras."_

Shaking my head hard, I dropped my face into my hands. Rubbing my eyes, I breathed in and out as long and hard as I could. _Not there, not there, forget it. It's over. It'll never happen to me again…_

I was ripped from my thoughts when I heard the sound of a motorcycle amongst the night traffic. Glancing up the street, I saw a bike weave out from behind a tow truck and cruise towards our end of the street.

"If this is that fucking Hothead, I swear…"

The bike slowed down significantly. The others called to the rider. Whistling, and hollering for his attention. I recognized the bike, the helmet and the jacket. And he recognized me the second he spotted me. For a second, I contemplated turning on my heel and booking it out of there. But it was too late.

The firebird gunned the motorcycle and came to an angry stop right in front of me. He didn't even bother taking off his helmet, just flipped up the visor.

"You stood me up." Was what came out. His dark eyes were angry, and I could swear I saw flames dancing in them.

I shrugged, probably not the best thing to do. So I averted my gaze, "I got sick. Didn't know how to reach you."

He studied me for a second and the chin of his helmet tipped up slightly, "We had a deal."

_I cannot believe you looked for me…I cannot believe that…_

"Why do you want this so much?" I asked, exasperated. Shawni and Leif were standing in their spots across the streets, whispering to one another as they watched the two of us.

I heard the pyro chuckle, "Let's face it, Will. I am most certainly not a nice person. I hate you and your family. I want to hurt you. I want you to suffer real good for me. I want you to beg for me. I want to control you. If a hundred bucks is all it'll cost me, then so be it."

Staring at him, I felt myself get a little red-faced. Embarrassment, and a little indignant. I hated how this part of my old life had caught up with me. I hated that I was afraid of this guy. I hated that I had any need to be afraid at all. I hated that I had to rely on sick pricks who wanted me to 'suffer' for them. Fuck I hated them all…and I hated myself.

My jaw stiffened, and I stupidly said, "I'll never beg for you." The second it was out of my mouth, I wished I could take it back. The glare in Warren's dark, fiery eyes was nearly murderous. My left hand curled around my switch in my pocket, glancing around me. I wasn't too reliant on the idea that if it came to blows that any of my 'friends' would help me.

"Want a bet?" He growled. "Get on."

"What?" I hadn't been expecting a reaction like that at all.

"Get – on – the – bike."


	7. A Regular

**While I was a tad more vague in the sex scene than I usually am, I haven't felt this confident about my writing in a while. I've been working on some submissions, and reading a lot, and I just feel inspired. It took too long to finish this, but I hope it was at least worth the wait.**

**Loveless, I hope you enjoyed it. Sorry it wasn't entirely done by your birthday.**

**This is the final chapter of Costs. Again, hoped that it was worth reading. **

**Love and limbs, friends.**

* * *

Thoughtfully, I said nothing to criticize how Warren might just have taken the turn up his driveway a little too hard. However, I was still _on_ the motorcycle, and my brains were still in my skull so I suppose I had nothing to complain about. It would have been reassuring to have worn a helmet or something, then I might not have clung so firmly to the pyro.

I hadn't wanted to at first, and had done my best to hang on without touching him. At the first stop sign, he'd braced a foot on the ground, reached back to grab my hands and wound them tightly around his waist without a word. To say that I was nervous was a severe fucking understatement.

There I was, about to have sex with what was essentially a big, angry flamethrower for money. I supposed that as long as I wasn't inside his house, I still had time to safely back out of the deal. But it was a hundred bucks, plus five for every mark. And based on what he'd said about his intentions, that total could very well be fairly substantial by the end of the night.

Then there was that vague interest in the back of my mind. The challenge. He'd said I'd be begging for it. I _never_ did anything like that. The only begging I'd ever done was for someone to stop…

Begging for more wasn't in my repertoire of words and phrases. If this evening involved as much pain as the pyro promised, then I was extremely doubtful that I'd be doing anything of the sort.

I was afraid of Warren to an extent. It was a perfectly rational fear. Even through his clothes, I could feel that he ran much hotter than a normal person, even for a Super. That was barely a glimpse of the vast power he held beneath his skin. He could very well kill me like I used to think he would. But then…I guess I found the aspect of not knowing what was going to happen with the firebird kind of exciting.

While I was more inclined to enjoy at women (ergo Mrs. Deane), he wasn't hard to look at. The red streak in his hair looked good on him and his body was…

_I need to eat more or something…I'm losing my mind._

After parking the bike, I quickly got off, doing my best to ignore the slight dizziness I was feeling. Warren followed, hanging his helmet up as I looked at the maroon house on Cinder Lane. Not what I expected, but then again, nothing in my life was ever predictable anymore.

"Come on," he grunted, leading the way to the door. The _click_ of his key turning in the lock sent a shiver up my spine. _Walk away, call it off…do it now._ When the door pushed opened, he gestured for me to go in first. And fuck me, I did. The last dredges of the evening light were fading, leaving the interior of the house kind of dim.

Warren followed me inside, closing the door with a calm and gentleness that I wouldn't have expected from him. He seemed more the type to slam doors than ease them closed. Immediately turned to me, "Take off your clothes."

I had just been observing my surroundings. We were in a small hallway with stairs to one side, a bathroom on the other and an open living room down the short stretch. "W-what?" I choked, whipping around to look back up at him.

The pyro cocked an eyebrow, "You need to pop your ears. Take off – your clothes."

Glancing around the dim hallway, I asked, perplexed, "What, right here?"

Instead of dignifying me with an answer, the firebird shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it on the rack beside him. Then he crossed his arms, looking expectantly at me. I held that gaze as long as I could, doing my best to at least try to scowl. It was harder with those dark brown eyes staring me down with an easy, blank air that was more powerful than any glare he'd ever sent my way. It felt like he could see inside of me, and see through me. It was then that I realized that he was going to be able to control me a lot easier than I'd initially thought.

Clearing my throat awkwardly, I did my best to hide the blush across my cheeks by bowing my head. It took me a minute, but I managed to get my shaky fingers to work. They reached up to pull down the zipper on my light jacket. I did it slowly. I had to get myself into gear after all. Warren seemed set on making this a power game. I could oblige him, by butting heads with him.

I looked back into those dark chocolate eyes as I slipped out of my jacket. "Hang it up," he grunted, gesturing at an empty hook on the rack. Exasperated, I did as he said and then pulled off my shirt with an annoyed huff.

Those eyes studied me. I could feel them running over every scar, every mark. I lowered my gaze in sickened shame and anger. He was going to ask, just like every other person did. When he opened his mouth, I thought, _Here it comes…_

"You're pretty skinny."

_…okay…_ "Gee, I wish Mommy and Daddy paid for my meals." I retorted, glaring up at him defensively. He was entirely unperturbed, maybe a little amused. When he didn't say anything more, I dropped my shirt on the floor and undid the ragged belt that held my jeans up. As soon as the buckle was loose, the waist of the worn denim slid a few inches down my hips.

Warren was certainly Captain Obvious. It costs money to eat decently, and that was something I couldn't afford to do yet. Even at that moment, I swallowed hard to quite the growl in my belly. It was almost a habit to miss meals these days. I told myself that after this evening was over, I was gonna stop at the Italian place near (sort of) my apartment and order the chicken parm because why the fuck not?

Without undoing the button or the zipper, I shoved my jeans down to the floor and stepped out of them. I paused, cocking an eyebrow over at the pyro as my thumbs dipped into the waistband of my boxers. He gestured vaguely at me, prompting me to continue as he watched.

So I lost the underpants, schooling my features into a look of distaste rather than discomfort and embarrassment. I was getting to be a fairly good actor with all the fronts I'd had to put up over the last few months. Fighting the urge to wrap my arms around myself, I stood there in front of the firebird with my hands at my sides. He stared me down, taking in every inch of my nakedness. It was hard not to nervously curl my fingers into loose, trembling fists.

When the silence really started to feel awkward, I held out my arms to either side, "What, do you want me to do a turn for you?"

Warren snorted, "I'll be seeing plenty of your ass in the next couple of hours, don't you worry." He uncrossed his arms and nodded to the stairs. "Follow me."

The stairway led up to another dim hallway. He didn't bother turning on any lights, and just led me into a bathroom. _Alright…this is new…_ I thought. Sure, I'd been paid for my services in bathrooms before, in public places, but not in a private setting. I watched curiously as the pyro reached in and turned on the shower.

He stepped back and pulled off his shirt, nodding toward the spray, "Get in. You stink."

I frowned, but stepped toward the shower, subtly trying to sniff myself as I did. Okay, sure, the water at my place was kind of hard, and had a different scent to it. The crappy incense from my neighbors probably clung to me too. And then there was the stench of cigarettes and shady deals that came from working on Garish. So alright, I guess I probably did stink to a nose that wasn't accustomed to the offensive odors of my everyday life.

The water was warm and clean when I stepped under it. Fuck, I hadn't been in a proper shower in so, so long. It was heavenly. I hadn't known how much I missed it until that very moment. I turned, letting the water pound down onto the back of my neck. I bit back a groan as it pulled loose all of the nervous little coils in my shoulders.

But then there was a great heat in front of me. Opening my eyes, I looked up at the pyro. And then I glanced down, _Yep! He's naked…_ It was only a quick glance, but I steeled myself not to look away from his face. I wondered what kind of thing he had planned for this tiny space. It admittedly wasn't what I had pictured when he said that he wanted to hurt me, and control me, and get me to beg for it… Those dark brown eyes moved along my body, following the tendrils of water rolling down my scarred skin.

I tried not to feel too self-conscious, or by any means _excited_. A bit easier said than done for some reason. I'd never been sexual with anyone I ever actually _knew_ before…I sure as hell never imagined myself doing it with Warren motherfucking Peace!

There was fire dancing in his eyes when they came back up to stare into mine. There was an icy sort of burn blooming in the back of my throat. I swallowed it down, averting my gaze slightly to take in his face. There was black stubble across his strong jaw. The shower of water that was bouncing off of my shoulders made the last inch of his dark locks wet. He had a couple of little barely noticeable scars on his lips. Probably from fist fighting or something.

Those large, warm hands came to grasp my hips and quickly turn me around so I was no longer facing him. He pulled me back against his chest so my face wasn't taking the brunt of the warm water cascading down from the showerhead. One hand slid down to loop around my…shit, my _half-hard_ prick…

Usually, my 'customers' did _not_ touch me there. Hell, I didn't ever really want them to. Well, I was good with Mrs. Deane touching me. She was a woman. A very pretty woman, albeit a pervert, and apparently a crazy person, but still…very hot. I'd never really found guys hot. Not really. I could notice when one was particularly good looking, sure. But hang me for not finding being a hole to be used for money by men no matter what they looked like real sexy…

So, when I took in a sharp breath as he stroked my cock, well, color me surprised that I liked it. Well, I found it a little uncomfortable at first. I wasn't used to it. And there was always the possibility that he'd set my pubes on fire. But it wasn't exactly bad if I got my mind to shut the hell up.

Warren was silent as he held me firmly against his chest. But yet the hold was gentle, I could easily pull away if I wanted. His long, stroking fingers were even gentler. I expected it to be rough. But he was careful. More careful than one would normally be when you have someone else's dick in your hand.

I exhaled slowly, staring downward, watching his thumb and two first fingers stroke up and down. It was barely anything, but it was a good start. _A hundred bucks and I might enjoy it…that's an odd combination…_

All five of his fingertips encircled the crown, rubbing under the ridges of the head, tugging slightly. My stomach muscles twitched and I pressed my lips into a firm line. When he circled that bit under the head on the front, the frenu-something, it brought a small moan from my throat before I could stifle it.

But then the firebird released my erection. I _did_ stifle the groan of frustration, it was just starting to really feel good. The arm he had across my chest tightened by the slightest when he felt my muscles tense. "Don't move," He said quietly. Swallowing, I did as he said and kept still. I watched him pick up the soap, and stepped under the spray when he nudged me forward.

My eyes closed instinctively as the water hit my face. The arm across my chest left me and his hand pressed my head forward a bit to let water stream down along my back. The soap was slick as he moved it slowly along my shoulders, my spine, and around to my chest. Blinking water from my eyes, I watched as lather and suds slid down my body to the floor of the shower.

This was all a lot tenderer than I expected... "Thought you said you weren't a nice person."

His fingers slid into my hair and tugged my head back, not too hard, just enough to hurt. His breath was hot against my ear, "I did say you stink. Believe me, Stronghold, I'm going to hurt you. Just not like the person who left all these scars on your body did."

My shoulders twitched, and I tried to move away. That arm moved around my chest again, "Stay still." It should have felt like he was trapping me. But the loose strength of his limbs felt more like a comfort. It didn't feel very good, but it really didn't feel bad either. So I decided against moving, and took long, deep breaths to keep myself calm. I wasn't about to black out and have another episode in Warren fucking Peace's shower.

So I let him scrub me down. His hands grew less and less gentle, very gradually. It wasn't unpleasant. I didn't mind being handled roughly, sure I didn't particularly like it, but I didn't mind. In fact, I barely registered it. The occasional bite of his nails, a pinch or a nip of his teeth.

However, I did register the path his finger took as it ran along my crack. I jumped in his arms with a gasp. It was a light touch, teasing, barely a wisp of a feeling. The second pass was a bit more persistent. The third, well, then his fingertip was rubbing at my hole. He was going to fuck me right here in the shower. _Hope he's got a condom. Left mine in my pants down-oookay!_

His finger was slick with soap and slid right in, but then left me almost immediately. "Put your hands on the wall." Warren said gruffly, pressing one hand in the middle of my back. The other held onto my hip, guiding me to bend a little at the waist to place my hands on the shower wall.

He nudged my legs further apart with a knee, and I felt suds sliding between my cheeks from the soap bar. It was the pyro's thumb this time, smoothing up and down my crack, pressing in, pulling out. Then his hand turned, and two fingers scrubbed up and down, in and out. It wasn't really erotic or anything. His fingers weren't pressing or rubbing at any sensitive nerve endings inside of me much. He wasn't searching for my prostate. Just up and down, in and out, and all over again.

It dawned on me that he was just…_cleaning_ me.

And sort of preparing me, otherwise why were three fingers pressing into me? My body put up a little more resistance this time, and I hissed at the burn. "Don't clench." Warren said, putting down the soap and reaching around to take my less hard prick in his slick hand. "Don't fight me."

I groaned as his hand jerked me, a little more forceful than before. He'd speed up, and slow down when my body tensed. "Let me in," Three fingers pressed into my entrance and I blew out a loud breath, spitting out any water that went in my mouth. It was less of the up-down-in-out thing now. He was rubbing inside of me, stroking little nerves and tickling my prostate.

A shiver went up my spine and a loud shudder left me, my hips bucking slightly. Forward or backward, my body couldn't decide. Into the hand on my cock or onto the fingers up my ass. _Fuck, fuuuuck, fuck-fuck! Shit-fuck! _"I'm gonna come," I grunted, surprised.

But then he stopped. He pulled his fingers out and took his hand off my erection.

"No, no! Oh, come on!" I exclaimed as he pulled me back against him. In response I thrashed a bit, reaching down to finish myself. I was so fucking close, just a little more! Warren caught my hand and spun me around to face him. He then grabbed the other one before it could get similar ideas.

"Fuck!" I grunted, a frustrated moan leaving me.

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" the firebird asked. His tone was serious, but when I looked up into his hooded eyes, he smirked.

"You're an asshole."

"Yep." He spun me back around, bent me over and went back to the up-down-in-out routine. This time, no soap, only water. The slide in and out was becoming less and less simple. I swallowed at the burn, and the discomfort. But I didn't move, just let him do as he would, just like any other 'client'. I didn't know why I thought I might enjoy this.

There were no more suds on the shower floor. I'd watched the last of them circle the drain minutes ago, and it felt like ages. I took in a deep breath as Warren wriggled one finger inside of me and pressed down. My body jerked, my hands scrabbling against the shower wall, a cry leaving me. I could feel him too, pressed up behind me. He was hard. Very hard. He was getting off on this, just like he said he would. "Fuck you." I breathed.

He chuckled, pulling his finger out and turning off the water. "I'll be fucking you in a couple of hours, so get used to it." He stood me up straight and pulled back the shower curtain to step out.

_A couple of hours?! _

I jumped out behind him, "Just how long do you think you're gonna keep me here for?" He was toweling himself off, leaning casual and bare-assed against the sink counter. Looking up at me, he simpered and threw the towel in my face, "When I'm done with you."

* * *

'_Done with me', _"Ah!"_ yeah fucking right, _"Oh _fuck_!"

I gripped hard at the soft straps of leather, breathing hard. Gritting my teeth, I shut my eyes tightly against the tears. "Shit," I whimpered, hanging my head.

The next blow landed right under the swell of my ass. The more than slight hum of heat exploded into a painful fire. "Ow!" I cried out, and clenched my teeth as droplets rolled down my cheeks, sweat and tears, "God_damnit_!"

Leave it to Warren cocking Peace with his carved, muscled physique to have a chin-up bar in the fucking middle his bedroom. When first being led into the room, all damp and feeling derelict about the treatment in the shower, the leather straps hanging from them had been daunting.

"_No, no, I told you, I don't do bondage. I really, really don't. I am _not_ doing that!"_

"_Shh, calm down, Stronghold. You're not going to be trapped. I'm not tying you up. Just watch. If you don't want to, you don't have to do it."_

He'd led me over under the bar, and lifted one of my hands. I hadn't expected the gentle touch again. But he was _gentle _as he passed the strap once around my wrist, and placed the end of it _in_ my hand.

"_You're too short to reach the bar. It's really just for you to grip. You can let go any time you want."_

I really wish I hadn't gotten on that fucking bike. Fuck, was I regretting it. Screw the money.

A large, hot and slick hand closed around my limp prick. I shivered out a moan, canting my hips into the pyro's touch, the flaccidness giving way to hardness almost instantly. I'd lost count how many times it had been. All I had to go on was that it was an entire hour and a half according to the clock on his bedside table. And yet, _somehow_ I was still on my feet, gripping those stupid fucking straps for dear life.

The pain burned from my shoulders all the way down to the backs of my thighs. My body was shaking with it because it fucking _hurt_ like a cocksucker. Pain has a thing about being fucking painful, I say. And I fucking hated pain.

Already panting, I clenched my teeth, whimpering as the firebird stroked me, aching and hard like a rock. I gasped when he maneuvered around me and knelt to run his tongue over my hole again. His fingers persisted, tugging and stroking my cock. It was something like this, over and over. For an hour and half.

Leave it to Warren rutting Peace to own a cane. It was long and thin, hand carved. Probably by him. He seemed the woodsy type if the hiking boots in the corner were anything to go by. And leave it to him to own a goddamned fucking horse crop too. Wasn't expecting an equestrian…but I knew enough about BDSM to deduce that he might just be a Dom. More than probably. Each blow was accomplished with an impressive amount of precision.

For an hour and a half, I was sure enough that I'd only have 15 marks in an even row from my shoulders to the back of my thighs. I counted. It's all you can do when you're just hanging there, taking it. The pyro easily brought his tool of choice down right on top of the previous marks. Saving himself money I supposed, and enjoying it. Being hit in the same places over and over again, it was tortuous. I didn't feel any blood trickling down my back (yet), but I was sure that there would be raised welts and dark bruises all alone my body. Fuck, I doubted I'd be able to even move tomorrow.

The cane, he'd used on my thighs and my ass, and my back was fair game for the crop. He'd been switching it up. Cane. Jerk me off. Crop. Finger my hole. Cane. Jerk me off. Crop. _Lick_ my hole (which explained the thorough cleaning my ass had endured). Cane. Jerk me off. Etcetera. With all of that, He'd never let me come. Not a single time.

Gasping, my head fell back when his tongue prodded in and out of me, "Warren…" The firebird remained behind me until he was satisfied at a whimper I'd let out at the stimuli his tongue was providing my ass. I felt him stand up, and come back to my front, closer this time.

I lifted my head to look at him. His eyes were cast downward, but his face was flushed. There was a sheen of sweat to his body. No surprise there. You beat someone for over an hour, you're bound to get some of that. His lips were parted, and he breathed a little heavier. Those dark chocolate eyes raised from my prick and settled on mine. The flames waved in them. My stomach started to feel very hollow and warm. Muscles all around my body clenched, starting at my groin.

"Please!" I moaned, my eyes screwing shut again.

"Is that begging I hear?"

I was too tired, too achy and too fucking close to do anything but give in. I'd fought it for so long. I'd held back every choked sound that resembled "more", "please" and especially "Oh, god, Warren, please". But I couldn't do it anymore. I was suffering from not just the pain, but the pleasure. The torture.

"I can't do it," I gasped, shaking my head, "Please, Warren. I can't do this 'edging' bullshit anymore." His other hand came around to my slick, well-worked entrance, and stepped closer to me. Fuck, the noise I let out next sounded an awful lot like a sob. "Please. Please, I'll do anything. Suck you off, let you fuck me, anything, please,"

The pyro chuckled, and I felt him leaned closer. Fuck it all, my mouth was so pliant when he claimed it roughly. His stubble burned. His tongue was merciless. I didn't do a lot of kissing in my line of work, so I was unaccustomed to it. Still, I'd said 'anything'…so I moved with it as best as I could. I hadn't thought I could feel dizzier than I had. I was wrong as his lips crudely undid me.

"Here you are, begging for me. Just like I told you. Fuck, you have no idea. I like the control, and the power. And I really fucking like each and every little noise you make when I hurt you, and when I touch you." He growled. I opened my eyes and looked weakly up at him, panting hard, hips jerking up into his strokes.

Warren stared hard at me, pupils blown wide with fire raging in them. He moved around me then, letting go of my weeping erection. I cried out in frustration, my hands finally losing their grip on the straps. My knees gave out and I crumpled to the floor of his bedroom, reaching for my stressed prick.

I felt his heat, and heard a condom wrapper tear open. "Don't you fucking dare."

I ground out a moan, balling my hands into fists. It felt like I was going to die. It had been too fucking long. I wasn't built to enjoy pain. And despite that, despite him caning the hell out of my ass, and cropping the fuck out of my shoulders, I still hardened back up each time he stopped and touched me. "Fuck," I grunted as he pulled my up to my elbows and knees, and yanked my legs apart.

When his cock pushed up into me, it didn't feel like an intrusion. At this point in the evening, I was far past being able to feel disgusted with being a hole used for money. No one before had ever really paid attention to me, to my pleasure. They'd take their own. That's what hustling practically was. That's what tricks pay you for. To be used. Never had anyone gone to such lengths to make me feel things.

At this point in the evening, I'd give anything to come, any touch that wasn't that fucking crop or that twatting cane was welcome.

Sucking in a breath, I pressed my face to the floor as he filled me. "Warren, please, I am begging you," "There you go with the begging again," He chuckled, his voice sounding strained. But he started to move. It was slow at first, not quite enough. Being full felt good right now, but I needed more. Angling my hips slightly brought a shout out of me.

The pyro groaned behind me, pressing closer, covering my back. The friction of his heated skin on mine hurt, but it wasn't exactly enough to turn me off. Warren picked up the pace then, wrapping his arms around my chest and gripping my shoulders for leverage.

"Ohhh, god,"

"Something like that," the firebird grunted, pounding into me relentlessly. Harder. It was all noise now. It felt like the world was imploding around me and inside of me. The room felt so loud and so silent. It felt like I was going to die in deliriousness, in pleasure and pain. His hand came back to wrap around my cock after a long bout of teetering on the edge. I'd said some embarrassing things that I hoped I never remembered. It was all building, gathering in the pit of my belly, my whole body alive with nerves.

"Come for me."

Since I'd been doing whatever he told me to all night long, my body decided, "Why the hell not?" I came. Oh fucking shit, did I come. Screaming bloody murder. I understood then why Leif, who was more experienced in the hardcore stuff why he called an orgasm 'death'. I always thought it had just been his Shakespeare obsession. "To die. To sleep no more." Stuff like that made sense at that moment. This orgasm felt like death sliding over me. Sparks burst behind my eyes, and things felt all white. But then there was blackness.

* * *

"Tell us what's up with the man on the motorcycle." Leif said, taking the smoke from his lips, blowing it off to one side to be courteous to me. Shawni wasn't as kind, at first. She caught on when I gave her a look.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I grunted, checking my watch.

Shawni snorted, "Told you, didn't I? Baby boy's got a regular."

I cocked an eyebrow down at her. Leif snorted, "The guy's been showing up every other Friday for two months now. Don't even try to deny it. What's he like? The sex any good?" Shawni smirked, "Oh please, he disappears for a couple days after, then walks funny for a few days after that. And _never_ complains about it. The sex must be _hot_."

"It's just the usual," I grunted, looking up Garish when I heard the roar of the Harley's motor. "Give him what he wants. Get paid. And leave." _And then spend the next two days in bed because you can't fucking move…_

Shawni looked up the street, and flicked her braids out of her face. "Next thing you know, he gonna go from being a regular to being your baby daddy." The two of them started laughing. I stepped up to the curb as the motorcycle came to a stop in front of me.

"Hideous-ass babies!" Leif shrieked.

"Literally ass babies! Ha!" Shawni pressed her face against Leif's arms, crying from her amusement.

"Yeah, you two can go fuck yourselves." I grunted, climbing onto the back of the bike and wrapping my arms around the warm waist. They were still howling with laughter as the bike gunned it down the street. I pressed my face to his shoulder against the wind and closed my eyes, preparing for the rigorous night ahead of me. A mix of dread and…excitement built within me.

'_Regular'…nothing regular about you, Warren cocking Peace…_


	8. Epilogue

**It wasn't six hours after the last post where I was sitting at work and thought "Aw hell..." because this just scampered around in my head like a crackbunny. So, I had to get it down. Put the finishing touches on, and boom.**

**Gorramnit, I know I said that the last chapter was the end...I lied. THIS one is the end. It's short, not sweet and to the point. After this, no more. I swear. _No_ more. Uh uh.**

**Enjoy the epilogue. Thanks for tagging along.**

**Love and limbs.**

* * *

_"I'm fine."_ _I insisted._

_"You can barely walk."_ _He countered._

That was all it took for Warren goddamn Peace to know where I lived.

Now, every other Friday, I'd take a bus over to his place at eight o'clock. Then he'd hang me up like a skinny little piece of meat, beat the hell out of me, and then fuck the shit out of me. The beatings were starting to feel more and more like…well, when they were happening, at one point I'd start to feel like I was in a trance. Nothing existed except the two of us in his room.

The pain wasn't as bad. The pleasure felt better. It was like sensory overload, but feeling absolutely nothing at the same time. It felt like flying. It felt like getting high. Granted, I'd only been high once (courtesy of James back at the shelter), but once was enough to know what it felt like.

I asked Leif about it one time. He'd laughed right back in my face, of course, "So _that's_ what you and Mr. Regular have been up to!" After teasing and mocking me for a little while, he managed to be a little helpful. He went on to talk about some weird thing called "subspace", said it was like morphine. And in a moment of something that felt kinda like friendship, he asked if I was okay.

"…_Yeah? I mean, it hurts and all, but…it feels…I'm getting paid. That's all that matters."_

_He cocked a quizzical blond eyebrow at me, "Okay. Just be careful, alright? This kind of work brings in all the sickos enough as it is without bringing the scene life into it."_

I didn't talk to him about it again. Instead, I went and spent a dollar on a card at the library in the nicer (sort of) part of the slums with my fake name and quasi-legal address. Free books and computers at my fingertips any time they were open. Sure, you couldn't go a day overdue on the stuff you borrowed without getting slapped with a fine, but what could they do? Half of their DVDs were marked missing so no one could blame them for being harsh. Ergo, I never turned books in late…like a responsible homeless kid.

The internet brought me an abundance of information that had me blushing. It also had me glancing up every so often to make sure no one was looking at my computer monitor. Might lose my privileges for researching such bawdy things. Those bawdy things I read about were familiar to me from my experiences, and made things make more sense. The "sub-drop" and "aftercare" things for example.

After the beat-and-fuck bit, the firebird would gently smooth aloe or something all along the welts he'd left on me. And then he'd sit me up, wrap me in a blanket and hold me closely while making me sip cold juice through a straw. Sometimes he'd even have me eat a piece of chocolate right after.

Before my research, I hadn't realized that all of those things were deliberate with intention. I wondered why Warren would go to all that trouble just to make sure that I was okay. If he really hated me, he'd just turn me out right afterward and let me wander around all aimless and droppy.

_It's not like he actually cares about me...does h-no. Nope. Nope. NOPE._

* * *

The pyro helped me off of his bike, and slung my arm (the one not holding my bi-weekly chicken parm take-out) over his shoulder. I wasn't on the high anymore, but the pain was hardly just skin deep. When you get beat, every muscle contracts, so that'll leave you a little wiped after a couple of hours. Especially when the one hitting you brings in a new tool: a long length of leather just made for strapping an ass. After that, hell, even my eyebrows were sore. I chuckled to myself, and earned a glance from the firebird. He looked away almost immediately, and walked me into my poor excuse for an apartment building and down into the bowel hallways to my place. "Charming as ever this place is," He grunted.

Snorting, I took the barb and shot back, "The rent is so reasonable though."

Nonchalantly, Warren took my key from my pocket, taking care to completely ignore my switchblade and unlocked the door. Familiar enough with his surroundings, he turned on a few light switches and walked me right to my bed. There, he made me lay on my stomach, and tossed a couple of pillows to me. "Yeah, I suppose if you pay for shit, you get shit." He said, shaking his head and eyeing the worn out copy of _Robert Frost's Poems_ I'd left on the edge of my bed last night, courtesy of the shelter.

"Well, gee, I wish Mommy and Daddy let me live at their house." I retorted in a matter-of-factly manner. Moving right along, I reached for the fork I'd placed on my nightstand earlier on in anticipation of this much needed calorie/carb load. With a pillow bunched up under my chest, I twirled the saucy angel hair around the tines of my shiny utensil. And damn was it good when it made it into my mouth. I'd always had a fondness for Italian food, and with this place, you didn't need to add any extra parmesan cheese. It was already in the sauce, and sticking to the noodles.

As I chewed, I looked up to see the firebird heading for the door. He was going to just leave without saying anything…as per usual. Tonight, for some reason, my big stupid mouth decided to keep that from happening before I could think.

"Why do you take care of me afterwards?" I asked quietly, aimlessly prodding at the angel hair in the take-out container.

The pyro stopped and turned around to cock an eyebrow at me. For a second he studied me, like I'd just asked him the stupidest question in the universe. When he spoke, his tone was no different. "Because I'm not a fucking monster. I don't get off on the idea of you stumbling around on a high. If you don't make it home at night, well then, I'm not gonna have fun anymore. I'm a nasty person, Will, don't forget that. Just because I take care of you afterward doesn't mean that I care _about _you."

I pressed my lips firmly together and looked back down at my food. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, nothing warm and fuzzy that's for sure. So I don't know why I felt…well…not great.

"I pay to hurt you and control you. I pay to make you need me. And that's why you keep coming back, because you're addicted to it." The words were too truthful. I'd tried to keep little golden realizations like that out of my head and here was Warren fucking Peace tearing them all out into the open. And he was _not _done yet, "The money is just a side effect to you now. If I stopped paying you, you'd still eventually come back for more."

Clenching my teeth, I glared at him as best I could, gripping my fork. "Bull-fucking-shit. The money is the _only_ reason. Hell, I wouldn't have looked twice at you if there wasn't cash involved. Because fact is, I only have sex with men for money. You're a trick, Warren. I'm not your sub. You're not my Dom. This is just sick, dirty business. Fucking for money. You are a fucking _trick_. That's it."

The firebird laughed and held out his arms, beholding my squalid apartment. "I'm sure you let _all_ the tricks into this dump, huh? I'm sure you've got a standing agreement to meet regularly with _all _your tricks! I bet you _beg_ for more with all the tricks. Just like the little slut that you are."

I shoved myself up from my stomach and got to my knees, wincing at the burning pain from my shoulders to my thighs. "Get out!"

"With _fucking _pleasure!" He yelled back, forcing the door open none too gently. "See you in two weeks!" he added smugly, slamming the door behind me.

"Yeah! Whatever!" I shouted, breathing hard with the anger and the pain. I listened to his heavy footfalls fade off before I flopped back down onto my stomach, feeling stupid and hurt. My fists clenched and unclenched on the pillow as I ground my teeth.

_Fuck,_ I scrubbed at my eyes because no, I was not gonna fucking cry. Swallowing hard, I picked my fork up and went back to stuffing my face, because fuck Warren twatting Peace. Fuck him and his stupid cane, his chin-up bar, his crop, and especially that awful new leather strap that he'd taken a shine to using on me. Fuck him, his sex, _and_ his money.

_Fuck Warren Peace. M'not fucking going back there ever again…_

* * *

I almost turned back more than ten times. I'd been thinking about it nonstop for two weeks. I wasn't going to do it. I really wasn't.

Gritting my teeth, I raised a hand and rapped my knuckles on the door. _The money's too good, _was the reason I told myself.

The door opened and Warren appeared. He didn't look smug like I thought he might. He didn't say anything along the lines of "Told you so". On the contrary, the firebird was quite silent. He leaned on the doorframe, looking me up and down, eyes lingering on my face. I tried to school my expression into a cool scowl.

_Just for the money…_

He jerked his head towards the inside of the house, and I obeyed the unspoken command by moving past him into the dimly lit hallway. It was _just _for the money. _Not_ for the mix of terrible pain and intoxicating pleasure. Most certainly not for that shudder that went up my spine when he said, "Take off your clothes."


End file.
